


Your blood sings in my veins

by Zeke (ThreeGalaxies)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crossdressing, Knife Play, M/M, Mooseley, PWP without Porn, consensual torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-07
Updated: 2014-02-07
Packaged: 2018-01-11 11:47:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1172698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThreeGalaxies/pseuds/Zeke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was Sam in the dungeon with the stilettos.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your blood sings in my veins

**Author's Note:**

> Set just after S09E02, Devil May Care. 
> 
> The part where Crowley is tied up in a dungeon, and talks about Sam being an S&M top in stilettos and a leather bustier. 
> 
> That. Essentially, just that. I was aiming for funny, but it ended up being a touch angsty instead, so apologies for that. Being human just hurts so good.

Crowley didn't sleep, not exactly. But he was left to roam inside his mind for days at a time, tied up in the Winchester dungeon, and sometimes in the quiet of the night things blurred and shifted, and it was almost like sleeping. He blamed the human blood.

And so he heard the click of heels on the basement floor before he was quite conscious, and he smiled before he woke, because that confident stride heading towards him in the dead of the night, well, that was _interesting_.

Did Abaddon manage to break in? Another demon come to rescue their king? Some other creature let loose in this odd base camp?

And then the clicking stopped just on the other side of the door.

Silence. 

Silence like hesitation. Silence like someone steeling themselves.

No demon would hesitate to stand in front of him, whether friend or foe, so…

No.

Surely not.

The day before when he made a crack about Sam Winchester in stilettos and a bustier he was only trying to get a rise out of the boys, which worked spectacularly. It was lovely to see Dean picturing all kinds of things he never wanted to imagine his little brother doing. But his favourite part was how he looked at Sam, as if looking for confirmation. Sam? Sammy? Do you really? You don't, do you?

Actually, no, his favourite part was that little enigmatic smile playing on Sam's face. 

That was, well, that was just hot as fuck.

It was the same expression Sam was wearing now, as he pushed the bookshelves apart and strode into the dungeon, face to face with Crowley in the dead of the night.

A late night visit from a Winchester boy.   
A Winchester boy clad in a skimpy black dress and stiletto heels at that.  
Well. Crowley had never been so happy to be accidentally proven right.

'Hello boy', he said. 'To what do I owe the considerable pleasure of your company?'

'You said this is what you do for fun.'

'Generally from the other side of the equation, but I am amenable to change. I'm famed for my flexibility.'

'Okay. You wanna play, let's play.'

Sam was calm, a small relaxed smile playing on his lips, but Crowley could see the steel coiled underneath. There was so much rage simmering just under the surface, and that was, well, that was just fun. This was indeed a very promising turn of events. He only needed to wind the Winchester up some more and this could indeed turn out to be a very good night.

'Moose, you're talking to the king of Hell here, do you really think you have a smidgen of the imagination...'

Sam closed the distance between them in two strides, metal heels coming down next to Crowley feet, and pulled him back by his hair to face him.

'If this is going to go down, we do it my way. You have two options,' Sam said very calmly. 'You can stay quiet, and I mean really quiet, or I can duct tape your mouth shut for the rest of the night.'

'No ball gag?'

Sam leaned over him to reach the table of tools, his long hair tickling Crowley's face, and he ripped a stretch of duct tape.

'Okay, fine. I pick quiet.'

Sam straightened up to his moose height and looked down at him appraisingly, deciding where to start.

When Crowley said those things about Sam in S&M gear he was making it sound ridiculous, all latex and tight high boots, but Sam didn't look ridiculous at all. 

He was wearing silver stilettos with metal heels, and a short black clingy dress that showed off his legs that went on forever, and his broad shoulders and most of his back. Low cut. Crowley let himself take in those shoulderblades and the curve of that back as Sam turned away, heels clicking, and walked in a slow circle around him.

Crowley felt his head yanked back by his hair, a cool silver blade resting against his exposed neck. He really really wanted to say something sarcastic about blood play as Sam stared down expectantly at him.

'Good,' Sam finally said into the silence. The blade stung pleasantly, but only beaded a few drops of blood. This wasn't enough. It was too controlled and too calm, Crowley wanted rage and pain.

Sam picked up a bottle of holy water, never breaking eye contact with Crowley, that small smile still playing on his face. Crowley cocked his eyebrow sarcastically, really, holy water, is that the best you can do, we are talking King of Hell here.  
Then Sam took a swig of the holy water and leaned in towards him, and Crowley's throat went dry.

He still leaned up into the kiss, and it burned, all the way down his throat, and he tried not to scream into Sam's mouth, and it came out as small, strangled noises that Sam swallowed down with a smile, and kissed him deeper, and this, this was good. 

Sam crowded in closer, the metal point of the heels deliberately dug into Crowley's leg. He could feel nicks on his shoulder and on his arms. Sam never broke contact, kept kissing him as pulled the bottle of holy water over and poured it over the fresh wounds.  
Crowley bit back a scream, face buried into Sam's shoulder, Sam holding him through the pain.   
'Fuck! Yes!'  
'First strike', Sam said calmly leaning back to look at him. He was essentially sitting on Crowley's lap at this point, straddling him. 

It was no good if he couldn't speak. He could use barbed words to wind Sam up, watch him let go of that rage that was always simmering inside him. Crowley had been tied up for so long, and humanity was invading him, itching at him from the inside, and he wanted to not think, he wanted something pure and wild and painful, and he bet Sam was only here to take out his anger on someone too. 

He struggled in frustration against the chains on his arms and legs, against the weight of Sam on him, he trashed and he pushed against Sam. He was hard, so hard, and the friction against Sam's inner tight felt so good.

An involuntary groan escaped Sam, and he rocked back into Crowley, sweet and close, and he scooted even closer, crowding into Crowley, his legs threaded through the chains, his hands exploring the fresh wounds on Crowley's back, and he rocked until Crowley could feel how hard Sam was too and they were lined up and pressing against each other. 

Crowley wanted to let his hands roam, and grab big handfuls of that hair, but his arms were chained. He leaned closer to Sam, and kissed a line down his neck, biting gently at the crook of his shoulder. Sam groaned louder, and ran his hands through Crowley's hair, pulled him in closer, grinding into his lap. 

Then Sam pulled him back by his hair to look into his face, and there was no enigmatic smile on Sam's lips now. He looked down with surprise and wonder, and he was so fucking open and undone. Crowley reached up to kiss him again, and this was good, this was a different kind of loss of control, something sweet and aching inside him, and right now he didn't care if it was his humanity.   
He kissed Sam deep, his mouth still tasted like burning, and his wounds ached, and Sam was grinding into him, and he was so fucking present and alive.

Sam reached down between them to unbutton Crowley's pants, and only broke the kiss when he hiked up his dress, and the sight of his hard cock in lace was almost enough to undo Crowley, but then Sam wiggled and freed himself and took them both in hand. His beautiful large hands held them together, and Sam pumped away, head thrown to the ceiling, and Crowley only tried to hold on. He was wrapped in Sam, and Sam's blood was coursing through his veins, he was lost in Sam, and wasn't that a wonder. And he wanted to say that he got it, he got why people wanted this, he got why Sam cared so much, he got this messed up and confusing and aching and loving and fucking up that his life was. 

Sam came with a bit back groan, and the sight of him so undone pushed Crowley over the edge as well. He saw sparks fly in the darkness as his orgasm was ripped from him, violent and aching.

Sam got up and cleaned them both up, a bit dazed, like this is not what he was expecting, like his mind was somewhere else entirely.

'Till we meet again?' Crowley said, trying to keep his voice even, trying to keep the hope out of it. Not succeeding as well as he had before.

'Maybe', Sam said quietly, and then he was gone.

And when Crowley's left alone again in the darkness he's not sure whether he hates the family living above him or desperately wants to have what they have. Whether he wants to follow this ache inside him or run as far away from it as possible. His head swims with the taste of Sam, and his blood sings with the blood of Sam, and he doesn't know whether to be terrified of becoming human or terrified of never becoming human again.


End file.
